


I'll Give You What You Need

by CaesarEmporio



Category: Australian Rules Football RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Boys Kissing, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Football, Hand Jobs, M/M, Minor Character Death, Older Man/Younger Man, Pretty much all three throughout, Sexual Experimentation, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 12:21:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12531252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaesarEmporio/pseuds/CaesarEmporio
Summary: When Oliver Florent and Will Hayward were first drafted to the Sydney Swans, they were close mates and then became best mates once they were at the club together. But as their first season wore on, they drifted apart. Now they've just come back from South East Asia where they travelled together for the off-season. The first part will focus on their journey from best friends to strained rivals and back again, and what happened in between to help them get back to a good place.(This will be a two-part story. The first will focus on the friendship of Oliver & Will, and the second will focus on the relationship between Oliver & John, but it's all part of a continuous narrative.)Also known as: my feeble attempt to keep the AFL fandom on here alive and kicking. Please Google these two players if you aren't familiar with them. Both are incredibly attractive and I adore their bond.





	I'll Give You What You Need

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS A FICTIONAL STORY BASED ON REAL EVENTS, PEOPLE AND PLACES. 
> 
> This is not a true depiction of any of the people involved.

They were sat in the Virgin Lounge, Oliver waiting for his glass of OJ, Will for his muffin. Oliver had no idea how Will ate before flights; it made his stomach chirn just thinking about it. The sharp descents made his temples throb and his ears pop, and he'd have a continued migraine for hours after the plane actually landed. But Will never looked bothered. Oliver looked his close friend up and down. Will was much more frail than he was. More agile as an athlete, sure, and probably more capable as a footballer. But on physical appearance alone, Oliver felt he had the edge on Will. He was quietly pleased with his toned but subtle frame, arms that put Will's lanky limbs to shame.

But the inescapable truth of their friendship was that Oliver was plagued by insecurities and doubts about his value, especially compared to Will. They were drafted together, and clicked instantly, before they even knew which club they'd be drafted to. And from what Oliver had seen of Will - limited to Youtube clips and highlight reels he'd seen on social media - he felt he had nothing on Will. He was quick and nimble, all that Oliver was, but he had spectacular aerial abilities and one of the strongest sets of hands he'd ever seen on a teenager. Oliver felt Will was worthy of a top ten draft pick.

So imagine his surprise when Oliver was drafted at pick 11 to the Sydney Swans with their first round selection, while Will was drafted at pick 21. At first he was almost too elated to soak it in. Oliver really was rated that highly. It was a huge honour, but all he could think about was how he and his new good mate would be moving up to Sydney, playing for a club that had made three grand finals in five years, in a team littered with elite names - Josh Kennedy, Luke Parker, Dane Rampe, Isaac Heeney, Dan Hannebery. Buddy fucking Franklin.

Oliver did his routine interviews with the Swans media, AFL.com, the Age, Herald Sun and Fox Footy. He was asked the usual questions. 'How does it feel to be taken with Sydney's first round pick?', 'How do you feel becoming part of the Swans?', 'What do you hope to achieve in your first year in the AFL?'

He was a bit overwhelmed. All the middle-aged recruiters and talent scouts standing around in circles, chatting and swapping stories about who they did and didn't get. He'd heard something about how predictable the draft was because of Andrew McGrath's obvious route to the number one pick. He also overheard a sneaky conversation regarding the Hawks lack of action in the draft. It was a surreal moment for him: He was a Hawthorn supporter his entire childhood, and here he was already considering them a rival for his own career.

It still didn't feel real to him. Even that night, as he lay in bed struggling to sleep with a mixture of anxiety and adrenaline, he couldn't believe his luck. He told himself he'd stay away from social media - he had to prepare himself for life as a professional athlete. Block out all the hype from friends and family and focus on what he and he alone could control. But a quick browse through Facebook wouldn't hurt, right?

And that's where he found an article linked to Will's page by one of his relatives. It's headline read: Hayward to be the Swans' surprise package. Oliver knew he should keep scrolling. It was irrelevant - out of his control. But he clicked anyway. He smiled to himself as he read the opening paragraphs - it chronicled Will's determination to impress by hiring himself a personal trainer, and his endearing modesty regarding his hopes of being drafted while playing juniors in Adelaide. Oliver was proud of Will and stoked for him.

Then his eyes caught on as he saw his name. "Hayward was drafted with the Swans' second-round selection, a priority pick, after the Swans' first round selection, Oliver Florent, went at pick 11. But despite the Swans long-time interest in Florent prior to the draft period, sources close to the draft believe the Swans were even more happy with the Hayward coup. For a talent of his standard, the Swans considered him going at pick 21 to be a steal."

Okay. So he wasn't the only one who considered Will to be superior to him. He felt a sudden wave of dread wash over him. He wasn't a rookie at the footy business. He'd been a supporter long enough to know that any club's first round pick was always the most heavily scrutinised, and considering he already knew Will was much better than his pick 21 suggested, he knew the Swans would be ecstatic to have Will.

Himself? He wasn't so sure.

And since that first day they were drafted, their friendship had been tainted with this strange tension. They considered each other almost best mates, certainly at the club. But it felt as though they were in each other's way; like they both knew this, but neither wanted to admit it or air it openly. Oliver was the guy who overshadowed Will's deserved attention on draft night by being taken with the Swans first round pick; Will was the guy who would linger over Oliver's first year as they were consistently compared as the two young guns from the 2016 draft.

So as Oliver sat and watched his friend look as calm as ever, a day away from making his AFL debut, he was once again in awe of Will. How was he so good at everything? He was a good looking rooster, too. He had a great family, a positive outlook on life, and would surely win a Brownlow or some sort of coveted award throughout his career.

Oliver himself had made his debut just one week earlier in the season opener - the Swans' shock loss to Port Adelaide at home. Oliver convinced himself he was putrid: he started the game in fine form with a stunning run-on possession and curled a perfectly-weighted kick inside 50 for the Swans' first goal of the 2017 season. He had, what, three, four possessions? Well, he actually had eight, but it never felt like it. He knew he'd stunk it up, especially compared to some of the Swans more recent debutants. Guys like Isaac Heeney, Tom Papley, George Hewett and Tom Mitchell had all had stellar debuts in recent years. It hit Oliver as he walked off the SCG with his head hung low that he would not be among them.

He felt a firm hand grasp his sweaty neck; half in frustration at the loss and half in frustration because of his negative attitude. It was his personal mentor and the Swans' former co-captain Kieren Jack, giving him a re-assuring squeeze to make sure he did not get down in the dumps. But it was too late.

A week later, he was stunned to find his name called on the team sheet again. Against the Western Bulldogs on their home deck. The reigning premiers on their home deck. And Horse was trusting him to help deliver? He had to admit, it was a surprise. But he would not complain. Nor would he allow the debacle of his debut game to crush him. His second week, his second game. A clean slate, a second chance to prove himself. 

They were waiting to board their flight to Melbourne the night before the grand final replay. It still felt bizarre to Oliver to even be part of a team that's featured in a grand final replay. 

"Oi," came the sharp voice of Will awaking Oliver from his slumber. He held out his phone and Oliver was greeted with a picture of the two of them from draft night, arms linked in their Swans jumpers. Oliver was startled by how much younger they looked in the picture despite it being just six months ago. And then his mind went back to draft night, and the conversations the talent scouts probably had about the surprise of he being rated higher in the draft than Will, and the article that all-but-confirmed this notion. "Look at your gimpy toothpick arms," Will teased with a smirk. Oliver laughed the banter off and flipped Will the bird, but the uneasy feeling of competition between he and Will continued to linger in his mind as they prepared to board their flight.

They sat side-by-side, Oliver next to the window and Will in the middle next to the vacant seat closest to the isle. They were catching an earlier flight with assistant coach Josh Francou, along with some of the other young kids - Jordan Foote, Aliir Aliir, who was resting his feet that were strapped, and Nic Newman and Robbie Fox, both of whom were also debuting. Of course, Oliver and Will remained inseparable and would never not sit with each other.

But their first interstate trip together was somewhat underwhelming for Oliver. After not even twenty minutes, Will had dozed off, head tilted back against the head-rest, mouth agape lazily as he breathed heavily in his sleep. Will's phone was resting on the pull-out tray, and it caught Oliver's attention when it vibrated with a message. 'FROM: Horse Longmire' 

Oliver found it curious, but he also knew that he received a message from his coach before he played his debut game. Then another two messages popped up, both from Horse. The notification settings on Will's phone meant he couldn't open and read them. But it was clear there were multiple messages from Horse to Will. And they kept on popping up. A fourth, a fifth, and after about a twenty-five minute break, a sixth message.

What the fuck?

Oliver felt a literal shiver down his spine. Was coach sending Will a fucking essay? Just to say good luck and remind him to focus on the basics? Maybe it could be explained away. Perhaps Horse had a different coaching relationship with Will than he did with Oliver. Maybe he needed more encouragement and detailed cheer-leading than Oliver did. But he also found that unlikely, because Oliver felt like he didn't give Horse any indication that he was somehow a more composed, in-control person than Will.

It bugged him the entire flight, because he'd never know. He'd never know if that sort of communication between player and coach was normal and he was being personally alienated, or if it was abnormal and Will was just receiving preferential treatment. 

As they made it to their hotel near Docklands, and got set in for the night, they were both getting dressed into their night clothes; Oliver was butt naked, simply changing his black Bonds briefs into fresh white Calvin Klein briefs. Will felt the Melbourne cold a little more, and wore no shirt but a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants as they both pulled back the sheets of their single beds. This felt like the right time for Oliver to bring it up; it was fine, they had seen each other half-naked and even completely naked before. 

"What were those texts from Horse about?" Oliver asked as he snapped the waistband of his briefs around his hips to secure them. It was half usual-banter and half genuine probing. When he was met with silence, and the sense that Will was trying to avoid answering it, he pussied out. "Reckon he's got a man-crush?" 

It was a good enough save by Oliver; he could tell by the way Will cracked his goofy smile and muttered a "He's only human" under his breath as he climbed into bed. But the boy was clearly flushed, it was clear as day to Oliver. He'd hit a nerve with Will, he just didn't know what. And he didn't know how he'd find out without appearing like a desperado.

"Do you like these sweatpants?" Will asked randomly, breaking the awkward silence as he pulled back the sheets to show the grey sweats fitted neatly around his waist, the slightest tent visible in the crotch. Oliver was startled by the sight: Will was sprawled in his bed, sheets pulled back enough to showcase the grey sweats that were cuffed around his ankles, laying as though he was seducing a lover in a really cheap porn film. He raised his eyebrows teasingly and made no effort to hide the fact that his bulge was literally twitching so proudly in his pants that Oliver couldn't miss it if he tried. He knew Will was just mucking around but this was one of his weirdest ideas of a piss take he'd ever seen. They both burst into laughter at the stupidity of the situation, Oliver hurling his spare pillow at Will's face.  
"You're fucked, man." 

"Night bro," Will chuckled quietly in response when the lights dimmed out in the flashy hotel room. Oliver sat on what just happened for a few seconds before responding with a simple "night." What was with Will's random as fuck attempt at changing the subject? And more importantly, why was he letting something so juvenile and probably insignificant as a few text messages get to him? 

\- - - 

The game was practically a repeat of the previous week's disaster. The young and inexperienced Swans team produced an almost identical result to the Port Adelaide game a week earlier. They were in the game up to about the mid-way point of the last quarter, before they just folded. Like the legs fell out from beneath them. And Oliver felt responsible, really. When they were crowded in the rooms after the final siren for the post-match debrief by Horse, he made special mention of the fact he couldn't let the result get to them because of the sheer inexperience they had in the side. 

It was supposed to make them feel better, but Oliver just felt himself get more and more tense. He felt like every senior bloke in the team was giving him daggers, intently blaming him for the fact the team was dysfunctional. Sure, he was not the only kid in the side, but he was one of them.

His individual performance was also eerily similar to the Port Adelaide game. He'd had a stellar moment - a fierce run-down tackle on Jason Johannisen followed up by a clutch goal from the boundary line - before he kind of drifted out of the game. Which was the opposite of what Will produced. Oliver could only watch from the interchange bench, panting heavily out of breath and feeling somewhat defeated, as Will came alive in the third and fourth quarters, taking marks around the 50 metre arcs and playing out of the middle as though he were Dan Hannebery or Luke Parker. 

Oliver had heard all the praise he was getting from the coaching staff seated on the interchange dug-out. "Fuck, love 'im!" Nick Davis said after Will produced a particularly impressive centre clearance. "This kid," he said later on, shaking his head in disbelief after Will did something else ridiculously classy. 

There was no definitive way to prove it, but Oliver felt like Will had already done more in his one debut game than Oliver had done in his first two games combined. The speculation everyone had about Will probably becoming more of a story at the Swans than Oliver would was already coming to fruition. 

Later that night, a few hours after the dust had settled from the Bulldogs game, Oliver and Will went straight back to their hotel for recovery in the indoor pool. As they stood in their speedos, water reaching their waists, the consolations and encouragements kept coming from their senior peers. Nick Smith came up to both eighteen year old boys and ruffled their heads, telling them they did a good job. Both boys nodded and smiled appreciatively, though deflated because of the result nonetheless. Then Nick lurched himself down by the edge of the pool and wrapped his arm around Will's shoulder, teasingly embracing Will's run and carry out of the centre that night. "You love a centre break, don't ya?" Nick said with a smile. 

It was one of the more impressive qualities about being at the Swans. Oliver couldn't compare it to other clubs, but he loved how professional his team-mates were. They didn't allow losses to drag them down, instead choosing to remain positive and use the losses as future motivation. But inside Oliver was kind of seething. He saw the way the boys had completely embraced Will into their fold, almost like a pet project of theirs. He was unlike anyone on the Swans list: tall but light, courageous but agile, could play small forward and tall forward, or even midfield. He was a unique asset to the team, and the fact the club was ahead of the curve in rating him so highly during the draft period only made everyone at the club feel proud to be a part of it. 

But Oliver, on the other hand, had struggled to fit in that little bit more. He still had those that had fully accepted him as a brother, like his mentor Kieren Jack, and, surprisingly, Buddy, who actually took great care to work with Oliver on his forward craft when he first joined the club, despite his high profile and admittedly-large ego. But for the most part, he still felt like a team-mate, nothing more. He didn't feel like a brother. And as he saw Will slowly growing closer to the rest of the boys, and his own confidence become more frail, he was struck with the fear that he'd lose Will as his ultimate best mate. He imagined the only thing worse for his psyche at the club than to be rivalled against Will would be to actually not have his close and unwavering friendship.

As Oliver and Will continued to frolick around in the indoor pool, Will shivered audibly. "Bit cold there, pussy?" Oliver taunted.  
"Oi, not even kidding Ollie, look!" Will lifted his Swans jumper up to reveal his toned but pale chest, goosebumps covering his entire torso.  
"Plucked chicken!" They heard one of the other boys bellow from across the other side of the pool, and Oliver joined in the laughing. When it all died down, and it was back to the two of them having a relatively quiet moment, Will yanked his jumper up again, and ran a finger over his nipples, now fully hard. Will seemed to be watching Oliver hypnotically as he circled his fingers around his nipples and occasionally tweaked them, like he was waiting for some kind of a reaction from his best mate.  
"They're so cold, mate."  
Oliver didn't know what to say - what do you say when your friend continues to act perculiarly around you? - so he lifted his own jumper up to check his own nipples. Much darker than Will's, they were still soft, and he almost jumped out of the water when Will unexpectedly reached a cold finger over to flick his nipples. The surprising contact of skin on skin rattled him, and, true to his debbie downer mood of late, told Will to "fuck off" but cracked enough of a fabricated smile to make it seem like he was just reciprocating banter. 

To Oliver, it felt like Will was just showing off, blatantly gloating about his confidence now that he was the golden boy of the Sydney Swans. He was parading his admittedly-infectious personality around as if no one else at the club was talented or good looking or funny. And it was really bothering Oliver how everyone seemed to be buying it. He'd known Will longer than anyone at the club. Well, besides the coaches who might have been keeping an eye on him before he was drafted. But Oliver and Will's friendship dated back to the draft combine in Melbourne, two months before they were drafted. Did it really only take less than a year for their dynamic to change? 

It left Oliver feeling empty, because he was not only losing a friend to everyone around him, but he was now losing a friend in general. Or maybe he was just being paranoid and tired. He needed to sleep and to unwind and to turn his brain off but also to vent. 

He called his girlfriend, Mia, that night to let her know he wouldn't have time to see her in Melbourne as they were flying out first thing in the morning, but she could sense the tone in his voice. She didn't know the protocol, really. If it was standard for Oliver to be that down in the dumps after a loss, or how sympathetic she should be. Should she bring it up or is it not that important to him? Or should she pretend like the loss never happened, and then he be upset at her ignorance?

She instead adopted a bigger-picture outlook. She asked him about how he was settling in at the club, what the lifestyle of flying interstate for a game every second week is like, what the other boys were like, how hectic his training schedule was, and how he was enjoying living in Sydney after his whole childhood and teenage years being spent in Beaumaris, Melbourne. 

"I dunno," he grumbled through the phone, sounding completely dejected and void of hope. "It just wasn't what I thought it'd be." He heard her sigh through the phone. He knew he'd been quite the taxing boyfriend over the last year or so. He'd had his reasons. His father's long battle with cancer, then that traumatic week in August last year when he stayed with his dad in the hospital for a week before he passed away. And then the drama and pressure leading up being drafted. It was a lot for an eighteen year old to process, and he'd struggled to really find out who he is. 

Most of the teenage guys who are drafted have finished high school and enter into the new chapter of their life as professional athletes. They're in team environments working for major sporting corporations and that only helps them grow into strong-minded men. But Oliver never had that chance. He still had no idea who he was, especially since he'd lost the one figure in his life he'd planned to mould himself into. And so since becoming a Swan he'd felt as if he were drowning at sea. 

"No one really gets it. Sometimes I feel like I'm just invisible and they're too busy worried about fucking -" and then he remembered Will may be able to hear from the ensuite where he was having a long bath. He then whispered into the phone, "no one cares about me. They only care about Will."  
"You're just being paranoid, babe" Mia tried to reason with him.  
"Nah, nah I know it. I can feel it. Even our coach is like, weird around me. Like he doesn't know how to treat me or something."  
He was met with silence on the other end of the line, Mia clearly familiar enough with Oliver's mood swings to let him vent freely.  
"I reckon they just look at me like a charity case. Not really good enough to be pick 11, watched his dad fucking die. It was just a sympathy draft I swear."  
Mia heard his voice trembling through the phone and she was certain he was crying. Oliver was one of the most gentle souls she'd ever known, and it broke her heart to see that he was still struggling with his emotions, even after being drafted and having his life dream come true. 

"Ollie, babe, listen to me. You're not a charity case. They all see in you what we see in you. You just need to believe it. Prove it to them. Make them see it. I guarantee you you'll get what you need from them."  
He continued to sob, admittedly feeling sorry for himself but revelling in the fact he could finally let out some emotions he'd been bottling up for quite a few months.  
"You're sitting in a fucking fancy hotel room right now, you're living in fucking Maroubra, you have your own fucking locker at the club, you have your fucking number 14 on your jumper -"  
"It's 13," he chuckled as he interrupted her.  
"Well whatever. My point is it's all for a reason. You are worth it and you belong there or you wouldn't have any of those things in your life." He felt warm inside at the stern words from his girlfriend. She really had a way of being a pillar of strength in their relationship even when she had her own things going on in her life. And he knew he had to appreciate that.  
"I reckon I'll just wait it out. See if I can get back to Melbourne next year. Or anywhere," he said resolutely. And really, Mia would fucking love to have her boy back, so who was she to say no to that idea? She was just glad he was at least looking to the future with some sense of positivity and resolve.  
"Yeah just see what happens. Just keep focusing on doing what you do and I'm sure the rest will follow naturally," Mia concluded, doing her best to keep Oliver focused on the promise of coming home if it meant him at least being happy and positive in the mean time. 

Oliver heard the sound of a drain and realised Will had finished his bath.  
"Alright, I should probably go. I'll text you in the morning Mi, I love you."  
"I love you too, Ollie."  
It was short but sweet, before they hung up. Oliver went to sleep that night smiling, knowing he had the best, most supportive girlfriend in the world, but also that he had a new coping mechanism to deal with this stressful year that had only really just started. 

\- - - 

It was around mid-May when he was approached by his agent about extending his contract with the Swans. He knew it would only be another year, meaning he'd be leaving at the end of 2018, which was still nearly a year and a half away. He honestly didn't feel like he had it in him. 

By this point in the year, he'd had a slight tweak on his ankle that kept him out of action for two weeks, and he was relegated to the reserves. Playing in the NEAFL was actually better for Oliver's mentality, because he was really shining as one of the stars of the team. The down-side, of course, was that the senior side was on a winning streak that didn't look like slowing down. All of the players in the senior team were gradually improving and lifting to a higher standard as the year went on, and Oliver felt his hopes of getting back in that senior team, and back under the attention of John Longmire, slipping out of his reach. 

It was a weird place to be in to feel like you're thriving with your sport but not actually enjoying it. He was playing great footy in the NEAFL, but it was still the NEAFL, and while over half of the playing list was rallied around the SCG for the AFL games, or travelling interstate together for their away games at the MCG, Adelaide Oval or in Perth, Oliver was playing at local grounds with team-mates he knew weren't high on Horse's priority list. 

He entered John Longmire's office for his mid-year meeting to talk about his progress thus far and his hopes going forward.  
"I feel like you've been, ah, just skirting around the fringes but haven't been able to, y'know, plant yourself with both feet just yet," the deep voice of his coach said. "Just seems like you're not quite ready, maybe you yourself don't believe you are ready yet. You're still a bit raw, I think we can agree on that."  
That's a way of saying you've been utter crap in every game you've played for us.  
"Usually we don't take punts on kids as raw as you, but you showed such promise we wanted to give you that chance and we saw glimpses of what you could do."  
You haven't been able to really shine like Will has.  
"If you keep at it there's every chance we could rely on you in the firsts later in the year or even in the finals."  
If we make it to the finals, there is no way in Hell I'd rely on your skinny, teenage arse. But Will on the other hand...

"Is there anything you want to ask me? Or anything you need of me or any of the staff?" The question struck Oliver's core like a spear. It was particularly resonant with him because yes, he did have a lot he needed to ask them. Like why the fuck they didn't notice the pressure he was under being the club's first round selection and nearly a top ten pick? Like why the fuck no one at the club had noticed that he was feeling out of his depth and out of place? Like why the fuck the senior coach was bulk-texting Will and not him?

"Sorry?"  
Oliver looked up to find Horse's confused expression confronting him across the desk.  
"What?" Oliver stuttered nervously, equally as confused.  
"The texts..." Horse said slowly, hoping Oliver would catch on and elaborate.  
Oh shit. He had no idea he'd asked him that aloud. He knew his occasional zoning out would come back to bite him in the arse. He had no choice now. He'd dug his own grave and his best hope was to stay strong and defiant. After all, his coach was in the wrong here, and Oliver had every right to know why one player was getting different treatment than he was.  
Deep down, he kind of hoped Horse would come up with something completely unethical and disrespectful, just to confirm to Oliver that no, he was not crazy and no, his coach really did not give a shit about him. Something like, Will's a better player than you, and that is obvious, and he is going places, so I text him all the time to make sure he reaches his full potential. At least then Oliver would be able to rest easy knowing this wasn't all in his head and he could accept that no one at this club liked him as much as the shiny, new toy Will. The toy they stole for a bargain price, as well.  
If Oliver wanted to be heard, he'd just have to go for broke...  
"On the plane. To Melbourne, I -" he stuttered, head bowed in defeat and submission and fear and embarrassment. "I saw the messages you were sending Will. I was right next to him and they just kept coming, ding, ding, ding," he said, accompanied by flicks of his index finger with every 'ding.'  
Oh my God, Ollie. What the fuck are you doing? He didn't need sound effects!  
He saw the unimpressed but nevertheless curious look on Horse's face and took it as an indication that he was still being given the license to continue. 

"And I've been with him a few times since where he's gotten messages from you, and I know they're from you because they say 'Horse Longmire' and it pops up on his screen." Oliver knows he's ranting and waffling on unnecessarily, but he's never been a great speaker. His naturally low voice doesn't carry conviction and his timid nature means he's never confident in his own views and opinions. Regardless, Horse sat and nodded slowly, as if recollecting his memories of the texts Oliver so speaks of.  
Finally! Some reaction from the man!

"I just don't.. really... get it. I've gotten, like, two messages from you. Ever." He reached into his pocket to pull out his mobile and prove his point, before Horse extended his hand to stop him.  
"No, son, that's not necessary. I believe you. I think I have only ever texted you a few times, certainly less than Will," Horse conceded with a shrug of his shoulders. Did he just call him 'son'? "Look, don't think Will and I are texting about football related things. We have mutual family friends, we talk a lot about how his cousins and my nephews and nieces are going. I'm old mates with some of his coaches from the SANFL. That's really it, just idle chit chat. You know you could message me about anything like that any time you want, don't you?" 

His coach's usually aggressive and imposing demeanour was now much softer, and his voice had taken a caring, emotional tone. Oliver could see concern his eyes and a sense of regret; that maybe his seemingly harmless bonding with one of his players was more careless than he had anticipated. 

Oliver felt like an idiot. Looking at it after the facts it was bloody obvious there wasn't going to be anything suspect or shady about his coach's communication with Will. And now he'd just accused his coach, the one person who dictated his career more than any other individual, of doing something untoward. Aaaaand that's the end of his career pretty much. He'd play out the rest of his contract in the NEAFL and probably be delisted, lucky if he's even given a lifeline at another club once they find out what a paranoid sook he was. 

Horse could see that Oliver was struggling to come to terms with the situation he had found himself in, so he took the reins to help the kid out.  
"Listen son," (Again with the 'son'!) "I completely understand why this would make you feel uneasy or that I was keeping something from you or treating him differently. I just want you to know that's not the case at all." As the meeting reached it's closing stages, Oliver started to feel better about how things stood with his coach.  
"So what's going on with your contract, you made up your mind yet?" Horse asked him very casually, as if he wasn't expecting much of an answer at this stage. And as expected, Oliver answered reluctantly.  
"I don't know.. yet" he added on the end just to make sure his hesitance wasn't too alarming to his coach, who he'd already accused of playing favourites in the last half an hour.  
"Fair enough. Well, you know where we stand." Horse got up from his seat, tucked his shirt in and stretched, reaching out his hand for Oliver to shake. "We've loved having you here so far, we think you're gonna' go places, and we want to be here for you in any way we can." Oliver shook his hand firmly, desperate to please, before turning away and walking out of the office. 

He felt like a slight weight had been lifted off his shoulders, because he could feel that respect from his coach that he hadn't fully felt previously. But there was something still picking at his brain. There was a slither of honesty still missing from this equation. Why hadn't Will cleared this up a long time ago? Surely he knew Oliver was noticing these messages, and he playfully laughed them off the first time until Oliver dropped the subject, but he never actually admitted what the truth was. 

What were Will's intentions with the conversations with their coach? 

\- - - 

Oliver was at home in Maroubra watching the Geelong game, which the Swans won comfortably despite it being down in Kardinia Park. Oliver was rapt for the boys, and especially for Will, who kicked three goals and was lively all night. Even Bruce McAvaney couldn't stop talking about him, and Oliver would be jealous if it weren't for the fact they had both literally talked about wanting Bruce to call their names on the big stage of a Friday night blockbuster. Oliver knew Will's dreams were coming true, and with September now only a month away, he also knew Will had a damn good chance of playing finals footy if he continued this form. 

As much as they had kind of drifted apart, there was still a core friendship there that was built on mutual trust and the ability to make each other laugh, without fail. Will had grown closer to the younger Swans that were playing a lot of senior footy - Isaac Heeney, Tom Papley, Callum Mills and Zak Jones. Oliver, on the other hand, still found himself surrounded by reserves players more often than not. Ben Ronke and Toby Pink and Sam Fisher and Robbie Fox, names that most outside of Swans supporters would not even know from a line-up. 

But he knew that even though they were on different paths, he and Will still needed each other to rely on for support. As much as they could pretend otherwise, they're still the two guys who were drafted together on the same night, who were in the same group at the draft combine, who both stood there gawking at the facilities during their first tour of the SCG, who set up the group chat over text so their girlfriends, Mia and Hannah, could get to know each other better, who sent each other memes about their respective childhood teams (Hawthorn for Oliver and Adelaide Crows for Will) whenever one of them suffered a loss. They were each other's idea of normal in this whirlwind first year as professional athletes, and neither could afford to lose that. 

Oliver decided to send Will a text.  
"Mate, you're going down. You + me + pool rooms next Saturday after the games. Loser buys the winner a carton. Deal?" 

And then he waited. He knew he wouldn't be getting a response for a while. After all, Will was still at the game, and oh look there he is on TV right now getting interviewed by Richo. He and Tom Papley were being asked about how Will is known as the coach's pet. Oliver felt himself tense up at the cringe-worthy sentiment, which he'd put to bed in his mind a few months earlier, by the way. 

"Yeah he's in coach's office all the time, can't get 'im away from Horse!" Tom said in his usual flat tone, his face dead serious to the point you wouldn't know he was joking if you didn't know Tom's dry sense of humour.  
"Is that true, Will?" Richo asked, holding the microphone over to Will, who was laughing it off and declaring "Not at all!"  
But Oliver knew Will. He could see the nervous shaking of his head and how he was blushing, the red tint creeping up neck all the way to his forehead. It was that look he's seen Will get whenever he's been caught out in a lie during a drunken game of Never Have I Ever. 

A jealous fire was lit within Oliver once again. Will, or maybe the friendship he continued to persist was one of equals, was really becoming a plague for Oliver to deal with. It was more mental and emotional stress than a friendship was supposed to be and every time he felt like they were in a good place, something else would challenge it and make him doubt the legitimacy of the friendship.

"Nvm, I can't do next Saturday. Forgot I had plans, soz bro."

He fired off the text without even really thinking, and didn't regret it once he did. Had their friendship really reached the point where they were actively avoiding each other? 

He awoke the next morning to a knock on his door. It was 11am and he'd just had one of the longest sleep-ins he'd had in over a year. And then he realised: recovery. He'd missed it. Even though the NEAFL team had a bye that week, the entire playing list was expected to be at recovery at Rose Bay after the senior squad landed back in Sydney on the Saturday morning. He was overcome with a surge of dread and fear. There was probably no greater sin to commit at a football club than to miss a training or recovery session, especially a whole-club session. How would he explain it? What the fuck could he possibly say to excuse forgetting he had a recovery session? It's not like he had a second job or university studies or an apprenticeship to worry about. There was nothing else he could possibly be pre-occupied with.  
Except unavoidable tension with his best mate.

As he ran to the door, he knew exactly who it would be. Probably not Horse himself. He'd heard stories from earlier in the year when Aliir Aliir turned up late to a training session how Horse avoided him for nearly the whole day before eventually lambasting him about the values of the club. No, he wouldn't be seeing Horse for a while. It would probably be one of the assistant coaches. Or - fuck - one of the boys from the leadership group. He couldn't imagine someone he looks up to like Josh Kennedy or Luke Parker tearing him a new one because he missed a recovery session. 

He opened the door with a sense of impending doom, and was stunned when he was greeted with the face of Will. The concern on his face was clear, but he was at least attempting a feeble smile. So they send his "best mate" to deliver the bad news. At least they're trying to soften the blow. 

"Ollie where the hell were you this morning?" He said straight away, walking past Oliver into the front room of his shared house. He'd usually be pissed off if someone just let themself into his home, but he had bigger things to worry about right now.  
"I - I slept in. I don't know what -"  
"You're fucking lucky I saved your arse." Will said assuringly, but he also was not messing around. Oliver had scarcely seen Will this serious and tense, and for all the bitterness and resentment he had towards Will the previous night, at this moment he felt nothing but guilt for causing his mate this kind of stress.  
"Saved? What - what are you on about?" Oliver asked, confused but trying to settle Will down.  
"I told everyone you were sick and I visited you this morning and saw you were crook. Then they asked why you didn't tell them you were sick and I had to make up some bullshit story that you lost your phone, so don't fucking text anyone from the club on your phone today, got it?" 

It was all a lie. He was not sick. He was not visited by Will this morning. His phone was not broken. Why did Will do all of this? Just to protect Oliver from the wrath of the coaching staff? 

"Yeah, OK. But why did you do this? You didn't have to." Oliver said slowly as if he were trying to piece all of this information together.  
"Umm do the math, dickhead. If you got caught missing a sesh that'd be you done for the year. You'd never get another game for yonks." Will lectured him, standing over Oliver who was still dazed.  
Oliver let out a snigger by accident. "I don't need you to tell me what will and won't happen to me. You're not my boss."

It hit Will like a tonne of bricks. Where did this come from? And was this really animosity or was Ollie just shit scared that he'd made a mistake and narrowly avoided being caught? 

"What the fuck?" Will said, absolutely baffled, but also aggitated, by Oliver's lack of gratitude. "I never said I was your boss, I was just looking out for you!" Oliver knew he'd struck a chord in Will because his voice reached that strained, husky tone he only gets when he's extremely passionate or fired up about something. He's only ever heard it when he was on the field calling for the footy, or when he was having an argument with Hannah over the phone. Again, he felt guilt that he was dragging Will to this point. But at the same time, the vitriol kept spewing out of his mouth uncontrollably. 

"I don't get why you're fucking worrying about me," Oliver said without even comprehending the words as they were forming. "Just leave me alone."  
"Fine."  
And then Will turned to walk away. He had one foot over the threshold of the front door when Oliver's voice broke the unbearable silence.

"Wait."

That was all Will needed before he turned back around to face Oliver, who by now had become very pale and had tears welling in the very corners of his chestnut eyes. He knew this wasn't really Oliver talking; it was some sort of pain that had overcome him. Residue grief from his father passing away, Will suspected. Will himself had felt as if he hadn't been there for Oliver quite as well as he should have been. But things had been hectic since they were drafted; it had been a constant runaway train that he couldn't regain control over. It seemed they were in a different state every second week, or never doing the same training drills, or never lunching or having breakfast with the same group of team-mates, and so they just drifted. The sentiment was there for Will, but the actions to prove it weren't. 

Then Oliver crumbled into a pile on the edge of the couch, head buried in his hands so all Will could hear were his guttural sobs. This boy was broken, and it broke Will's heart. 

"Ollie... dude... what is happening with you?" Will said so gently it was almost a whisper. He realised his wording wasn't ideal. He didn't want to make Ollie feel like he was weird or unusual for just having feelings and emotions. But he was also no Oprah, and he never claimed to be. He rested a firm palm across Ollie's back and rubbed up and down. 

"I just - I just expect too much from you." Oliver stuttered out through choked sobbing. "I want you to be my best mate and the rock that's always - that's always there - for me. But you can't be!" Will knew instinctively that Ollie was talking just as much about his father as he was talking about himself. Every boy has the one permanent staple in your life who will be there for you, and that's their father. Ollie doesn't have that now, and he channeled that desire and that need into Will, who, it was inevitable, couldn't live up to that.

"Sometimes you're like my main competition then other times you're my closest friend, you're like a brother, then sometimes I just fuckin' hate you." The words came out like a stream - all emotions Oliver had been doing his best to stifle for the better part of a year now. And Will would be offended or taken aback if he didn't understand where Ollie was coming from so clearly. He was a boy who needed a lot of loving from his friends, from his family and his peers, and in the ruthless environment of professional sport, it wasn't always easy to come by. Especially surrounded by alpha males who found it difficult to show their truest and most vulnerable emotions. 

Will chose to just remain silent. He wanted Oliver to squeeze every last drop of his painful and agonizing mind into Will's lap, who would just receive it as best as he could. 

"I'm just so confused by you. You act like we're best mates and you're genuine and a good bloke and everything you normally are with me. But then you go fucking around and carrying on and being obnoxious and I don't get it." Will had a feeling he knew where this was headed, but he wanted Oliver to state it explicitly. 

"Trying to get me to look at your dick in your pants." Ah-ha! And there it is, Will thought to himself. "I remember shit like that. Fucking playing with your nipples in front of me. It's just weird shit you wouldn't normally do, and I don't like it 'cause I feel like you're taking the piss out of me." Oliver sounded like he'd finally finished, using his sleeve to wipe away some snot from his nose. Then his face seemed to straighten up as he tilted his head towards Will, making eye contact for the first time in what felt like hours. "Unless you're gay?"

Will simply shook his head gracefully, uttering a "No, I'm not gay." Which made things awkward again, because neither were getting anywhere here. "But," the silence was broken again. "I was trying to figure you out. I know what you need." With that, Oliver gently leant forward, and pressed his lips against Will's, waiting for some sort of positive reception or reciprocation. Then he felt Will's lips move, and open against his, and their lips were locked. It felt strange - they were best mates - and neither had ever kissed another dude before. But it also felt okay. Not great. They weren't sexually attracted to each other, even though both could admit the other was handsome enough. So it never could be great or feel totally right. Oliver's tongue was thrusting forward, asking Will's mouth for entrance, but was met with a resistance, as Will grappled with a moan and suddenly pulled away. 

Oliver looked dejected, his eyes wide and apologetic, searching and fearful as they gazed back into Will's.  
"No, I'm not gay. I have a girlfriend." Will stuttered. "Hannah, she's -"  
"I know," Oliver whispered in defeat.  
"But I know what you need," Will repeated his earlier words. "I still love you bro, you know that. Just let me -" and then he silenced himself, letting his actions speak instead. He reached his hand forward and rubbed it over Oliver's crotch, feeling the slightest bit of pressure when it throbbed beneath his palm. Oliver let out a nervous laugh when Will looked directly into his eyes, both boys acknowledging Oliver's arousal and the fact that this was really happening. "Just.. no kissing," Will said rather confidently, which was fine with Oliver. Considering this was all new to both boys, he was glad it was Will establishing some ground rules and not vice versa.  
"Is this okay?" Will's confidence lasted all of about five seconds as he asked hesitantly, continuing to rub his hand over Oliver's crotch, feeling it harden and rise in it's confines. He waited for Oliver's breathy nod of approval before he used his nimble fingers to undo the fly on Oliver's shorts. He immediately felt the warmth emanating from Ollie's crotch, his thick pubic hair making contact with Will's skin, which was bizarre. Will himself was smooth all over, so this was new territory for Will (as if it weren't already.) But again, he surprised himself with how he was able to soldier on. 

He reached his fingers further down so he could close them firmly around the base of Ollie's cock, feeling what seemed like a pretty average sized cock in his hand. He curled them around the cock and pulled up, feeling his foreskin sliding up and down again, the pad of his thumb grazing against his piss-slit, which drew an audible moan from the boy beside him. He realised Ollie liked this, and he himself knew what he liked when Hannah pleasured his cock, so he just let go of his inhibitions and nerves about what you should and shouldn't do when you're jerking your straight best mate off, and just went for it.

He set an aggressive pace with his hand, feeling weird about the fact that he kinda liked the feeling of Ollie's small cock coming to life in his hand, pulsing with every upward stroke and then feeling the tension of his foreskin retracting with each downward stroke. Will extended his right arm around Ollie's shoulder towards his neck, and pulled the boy in so that his head was buried in Will's shoulder and collarbone. Will took the new position to rest his chin on Ollie's head of silky, long brown hair, and he felt instantly protective. It was like he was a wild animal shielding it's cub from dangerous prey; cradling something it cares for. The boy beneath him was shaking and breathing heavily, and both were kind of lost for words. 

But Will could sense that Ollie was enjoying this, but more importantly, that he needed this. As he continued to set a fast pace with his stroking, he whispered, "Is this what you need?", hoping Ollie would give him some sort of feedback that this crazy-arse experiment wasn't all for nothing. Ollie could only nod and groan as he said, "Uh, fuck, yes I need you." And Will knew Ollie didn't mean he needed him, since Ollie was not gay and he was just confused as fuck right now, but he did need what Will could give him. Will used this as motivation to give Ollie exactly what he knew he needed.

He found himself frustrated by the restraints of Oliver's shorts and his underwear, so Will, without moving from his spot cradling Ollie, used both hands to aggressively grasp the waistband of both his shorts and undies, and shrug them down his thighs. Seeing more of Ollie's skin exposed brought out something in Will, an inherent need to take control and assert himself somehow. He tapped Oliver's right hand, the one that was previously tugging on Will's own shirt like a baby clutching at it's blanket, and gestured for him to rub his own thighs. 

And Will couldn't believe his eyes as Oliver obeyed like a docile puppy, and set forth on rubbing his palms over his thighs; tracing circular patterns over the coffee-coloured skin, seemingly lost in the unique texture of his course hairs on his thighs creating friction with the skin of his hand. His breathing became heavier and his moans became more difficult to repress as his hands wandered lower down to the insides of his thighs, the soft skin there extra sensitive. 

They both gave another nervous laugh when Ollie's massaging hand bumped against Will's stroking hand, the ridiculousness of this situation not lost on either of them but also both too lost in the moment to really care. 

"Is this what you need?" Will muttered into Ollie's hair again, kind of enjoying how he was bringing apart his best mate in his own lap.  
"Oh, fuck... yes!" Oliver said more urgently this time, more grunt in his voice. And Will knew he must be close. He stroked faster, daring to extend his fingertips down to rub at Ollie's balls but not liking the sweaty, hairy sack he was met with. He was a straight guy after all. But the few times he rolled his balls in his hands were enough to have Ollie literally gasping for breath and producing squeaky, high-pitched moans that Will would no doubt take the piss out of him for later on. 

It only spurred Will to keep his relentless pace up. He wasn't even sure Oliver was fully hard yet, because this situation was too overwhelming and new for Oliver to possibly have him fully turned on. He didn't know if he wanted more, but he wanted whatever this was to never, ever end. 

Regardless, his end was near. Will was stroking uncompromisingly, swiping his thumb and index finger over Ollie's prominant mushroom head with each stroke to the point that Ollie was kicking his legs off the ground and his fingers clutching at any piece of fabric Will was wearing that they could find.  
"Is this what you need?" Will asked again.  
"Yes, yes, yes!" Oliver chanted, feeling his orgasm coming.  
"Come on, tell me, is this what you need?" Will asked, slowing down his pace to tease Oliver just as he reached his ultimate peak.  
"FUCK! YES WILL!" Ollie groaned loudly, it came out muffled from where his head was still buried in Will's chest but he could hear it nonetheless. It was all Will needed to pick up the pace of his stroking again and press his fingers deeper into the flesh of Oliver's shaft. He lost track of exactly what brought it on, but Ollie's climax was immense and seemingly ever-lasting. Shot after shot of milky white cum released from his cock, some spraying into string-like ropes that levitated in the air and splattered onto the floor and all over his bare thighs. Others dribbled down his cock and into the waiting hand of Will; the feeling of warm, sticky cum - his best mate's warm, sticky cum - made Will uneasy but he persisted until Oliver's cock was spent, just like Oliver himself. His body went lax in Will's chest and he had to use both hands, including one still covered in cum, just to hold Ollie's pliant body upright. 

Both boys sat there panting; Oliver seemingly too humiliated to raise his head from where it remained burrowed in the solace of Will's body, and Will still somewhat overwhelmed from having just witnessed his mate have a powerful orgasm which he helped produce. He was so out of it he remained oblivious to the puddle of cum now drying on his hand, before he suddenly remembered it and jolted to wipe it on the closest piece of fabric he could find... which just so happened to be Oliver's striped T-shirt. 

"Sorry," Will said genuinely apologetic as he realised what he had done in a panic. Oliver finally raised his head to speak, glanced down at the cum stain now plastered on his T-shirt, opened his mouth to utter a response, before panning down to realise he was soaked in cum. There was cum in his pubes, dried cum oozing down the side of his cock, glistening white cum contrasting against the dark-tanned complection of his slender thighs, a few stray drops on his wooden floorboards.  
"That was insane," is all Oliver could produce.  
"You said my name."  
"What?"  
"You said my name... Will... when you, y'know..." Will finally got out. He didn't mean to make this awkward. In fact, he was trying to find the light hearted side of this all, and if they refused to take this situation seriously, then they had to be able to laugh about it.  
"Yeah well, I've never had anything like that."  
"You mean anything as good as that?" Damn, Will was a natural at this whole post-orgasm flirting business. It elicited a chuckle from Oliver, so at least that was something. 

"You wish. I've definitely had better."  
"Oh yeah, yeah, sure." Will cackled sarcastically as he clambered off the couch in search for some paper towels or hand wipes. "Like what?"  
"Mia once gave me a rimjob, I fuckin' lost it," Oliver said as he remained lazily slouched on the sofa.  
"Damn, she's brave. I wouldn't go anywhere near your hairy ass hole." Will teased as he stuck his tongue out, liking his ability to make Oliver smile and seem his normal self again. "So you must be gay then, if you like something up your butt hole."  
"What?" Oliver hissed, "It was just a tongue you twat."  
"I'll admit, that's why I was testing you," Will offered.  
"Testing me?" Oliver's face had gone back to clueless again, Will's capacity for surprises seemingly boundless. The boy finally returned to where Oliver was sitting, hands full of wet paper towels, and he handed them to Oliver, who used them to wipe the dried cum off his thighs and the floor, as well as patting down his thick pubic bush.  
"Yeah, y'know, when I showed you my sweatpants... and played with my nipples... I was tryin' to see if you were," he really didn't know if he should keep talking here because he was met with a blank expression on Ollie's face that made it impossible to know if he was furious or receptive to this information. "If you were gay."

"Ah what - dude - I - Mia, you know that!" Oliver finally got out, lost for words.  
"Yeah, yeah, I know that. But I just thought there was a chance you might be gay."  
"So what, all of those weird fucking moments were just tests? You were just tryin' to figure me out?" Will could sense Oliver getting a little aggitated again, and that was not what he wanted. He just had to re-assure Oliver there was a purpose to all of this. 

"Well, kinda' yeah. Because I have someone for you. Someone I think could be good for you."  
Will was nervous here. Oliver started looking him up and down, as if he assumed Will was talking about himself. He'd just said in specific terms that he did not want to kiss Oliver because he wasn't gay, and he had a girlfriend. Even if those specific terms were issued before he jerked off his best mate. And in theory, Will would be someone who was good for Ollie. He just proved he knows his best friend's weaknesses and vulnerabilities and how to help him through them. But they were best mates and he took that friendship very seriously. He already felt like he'd let him down enough times over the last nine months and he was not about to make it any more difficult for Ollie by proposing they both dump their girlfriends and start a gay relationship. 

No, Will just wanted to help Oliver out. He had a suitable candidate who could give Ollie exactly what he needs - what Will just gave him but much, much better. But when he says it aloud, he may lose his best friend forever. And he may shake the club they play for to it's foundations. He has no idea the can of worms he may open with this suggestion, one that may have ramifications for both of them and their careers. But he cares about Oliver so much that he would be willing to take the risk. Will Oliver?


End file.
